


Bittersweet

by yehetmeup



Category: GOT7
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetmeup/pseuds/yehetmeup
Summary: There’s no alternative to marrying your soulmate in your family’s social circle, it’s just what’s done. He’s everything your family hoped for - rich, connected, from a ‘certain kind’ of family - and everyone is happy, except you. Chase is aggressive, selfish, and the exact opposite of what you always dreamed of in a soulmate. As your wedding draws closer you’ve given up hope of a life filled with joy and love, forever chained by your family’s expectations. But then you meet a man who’s broken his soulmate bond, a man who loves you regardless of money or status, and you’re faced with a choice: the desires of your family, or a love that finally feels real?





	Bittersweet

The hem of your dress is coming undone, you touch the slight tear in the seam with more interest than you feel towards the conversation happening around you.

A single golden strand is unraveling from the neat waistline of the brand new Givenchy cocktail number. How very fitting, you think, closing your eyes for a moment, wishing you were anywhere but here.

‘Darlin’, your opinion?’ Chase asks from your right, tightening the hand he has around your waist, making you realize this is probably not the first time he’s asked the question.

You drop your bemused smile, lifting your head to meet the eyes of the indistinguishable older white men standing in a loose circle around you and your fiancé. After a beat you remember what boring topic they were discussing before your attention was drawn away. Ah, yes. The energy portfolio.

With a sigh you plaster a polite and confident expression across your features, sliding back into the skin of the person you’re supposed to be with the same wet, unpleasant feeling as pulling on a damp swimsuit after a day at the beach.

‘Well, if you’re thinking of going with Yakashira Energy you can’t find a more solid foreign investment. Their P&Ls for the last nine quarters have shown steady progress and our fund has seen excellent dividends from high capitalization,’ you say in the same bland, reassuring voice your father has always used to woo investors.

You couldn’t hate it more. Smiling. Schmoozing. Pretending to give even a sixth of a shit about just how much money he and his company can squeeze out of similarly rich, bored men and women. A company that will one day be mine, you think with a shudder.

But this is the hand you’ve been dealt in life, and by now you can play it like a virtuoso, even if you despise it.

Chase gives you a pleased smile and a quick nod before turning and continuing the conversation. You resist the urge to roll your eyes in boredom.

Across the room you see your father laughing heartily, slapping someone on the back, no doubt playing his ‘good old boy’ routine to perfection. All the better to hide the viper beneath the gentile exterior. 

You don’t make it onto the Forbes Richest Men in America list without having steel underneath your benign facade.

His combination of tenacity and avuncular charm made your family rich. It also locked you into a life and a future you loathe.

You take a sip of the champagne in your hand, more for something to do than from any actual interest. Motion to your side draws your eye and you watch Chase take a sip as well.

It might as well be poison, you think, pursing your lips in disgust as the flavor lingers on your tongue. 

Every sweet taste reminds you of the fact that out of everyone on earth, this man is supposedly your biological soulmate.

You wonder idly what it must have been like, in the days before humanity developed sensory deficiencies that vanished only with extended close contact with their soulmate. You wonder what it was like in the days before those with money and means began extensively running searches to find their children’s matches.

Looking across the party, you can’t help but stare longingly at your sister Lily and her new husband. Unlike you and Chase, she and Derek actually like each other.

Love each other, you think as you watch him drop a kiss to her head and squeeze her waist affectionately; so different from the cold, vice-like grip Chase has on your hip.

In pop culture soulmates are a romantic idea, a perfect match designed by nature. The melding of two people to form an everlasting bond. 

But in the cold, superficial, high society you were born into your connection to Chase feels more like an iron anchor, dragging you to the depths of misery.

Soulmates, you think savagely. What a load of bullshit.

Among the general population only three to five percent find their soulmates, but in your world it’s closer to seventy five percent.

Your sweetness deficiency finally revealed itself in the first grade, when you were able to find the words to describe your complete ambivalence to candies and cookies. The cupcakes that made your sister’s cheeks glow left a dull, bland taste in your mouth instead.

The moment it was discovered your parents set about posting on message boards, reaching out to friends in New York and other such circles in Los Angeles and Chicago to see if any of their sons shared a similar taste deficiency.

Of course, there was no guarantee that your soulmate would be in the same country, let alone the same continent, or of the same social network. But oh, how they hoped your match would be from the ‘right’ sort of family.

When you started high school, at age fifteen, they began the official introductions. They told everyone they waited so long to give you time to enjoy your childhood. As if years of boarding schools, field hockey camps, volunteering trips abroad, and test prep courses after school could be called a childhood.

Expensive presents were hardly a substitute for parental affection and lavish parties, spent forced together with similarly bored friends of the same age, were hardly a substitute for true connection.

But it wasn’t all bad. At least you had your sister, your wild and daring sister who never cared what anyone thought. And you had your books. They formed the twin ropes you clung to survive.

And, as you always reminded yourself in low moments, you were far better off than most people on earth. Even if love was hard to come by in your parent’s world, at least you were never homeless or starving.

Some of the boys they paraded in were sweet, friendly, and normal; boys your age with awkward smiles, equally uncomfortable with this bastardized reverse Cinderella situation you found yourselves in.

You quickly realized that any chance of your future relationship beginning with friendship, or at least mutual respect, was ruined by the boorish way your parents went about it.

An array of sweets laid out in front of you in your family’s lavish dining room. Your best dresses, ironed. Your hair, straightened to perfection. A rotating selection of dishes across from you, depending on which specific taste deficiency the day’s suitor possessed.

The hesitant, nervous smile on your face that had faded, hardened into disdain, year after year as these meetings took place.

They hired the best firm in town ‘guaranteed to find your match!’ It had scientists to keep up to date on the latest research on likelihood that soulmates lived in the same area, were the same age, possessed similar deficiencies, and so on. Researchers to scour social media and message boards, searching for boys who might be a match for you.

For years this persisted, on the weekends or in stranger’s living rooms on trips your family took to promising cities far and wide.

In the deepest part of your heart you hoped for love. You desperately wished your soulmate lived across the globe, so you could get far away from this. You dreamed that he would be a teacher or a musician or an artist, someone as opposite from your family as possible.

But as the years went on your hope diminished, replaced instead by the comforting world of fiction.

In high school you started working frantically through lunches to finish your homework so you could stay up late devouring romances. Clinging to the hope that the story of your life would miraculously contain even a hint of the passion of Wuthering Heights. A scrap of the longing of Pride and Prejudice. Adventure like in The Princess Bride.

In your most desperate moments you whispered to your pillow that you’d even take the saccharine melodrama of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

Anything but the cold, artificial, loveless marriage of your parents and their friends.

There were some real life relationships that gave you hope.

Your older sister met Derek at college. She’d gone through years of the same process as you before she told them in no uncertain terms that this ‘ridiculous search’ would be put on hold while she got her degree.

If only you possessed a tenth of the courage she did, you’d thought at sixteen, as you watched her drive off for Brown. Just four months later she came home, stars in her eyes and a man’s name on her lips, looking like she’d found the answer to every mystery of the universe.

She was delighted. Derek was handsome and kind and studying Philosophy. He dreamed of opening a non-profit after graduating, she had told you, her chilly feet tangling with yours while she lay in your bed.

With wide eyes and a fresh swath of hope burning in your chest you listened to her night after night that holiday, as she talked about the man she would one day marry.

Your parents, on the other hand, were less than thrilled. Derek’s humble Midwest roots and school teacher parents were a far cry from the ‘good breeding’ they were hoping for, but there was nothing they could do. Not marrying one’s soulmate in high society was a faux paus akin to streaking buck naked down Madison avenue, eating carbs willingly, or voting Democrat.

Luckily, Derek was just as crazy about her as she was about him. He thought finding his soulmate was a wild stroke of luck and looked at your sister like she personally lit every star in the night sky.

You watch from across the room as she turns to look up at him, her eyes crinkling and her mouth breaking a dazzling smile just for him.

As you look at them a feeling rises in your chest; a sudden ache. A sharp pain between your ribs that’s so strong you take a deep breath in just to cope.

It’s a subtle shift that makes you move. Not so much an earthquake but a slight tremor, a feeling like when a car passes too close by you on the sidewalk.

An instant ago, you were fine. Now, this is all too much. Too suffocating, too loud, and you can’t stand it.

But you are not some flower that crumbles at the first sign of stress. Twenty four years as the daughter of one of the most powerful men in America has taught you everything you need to know to protect yourself. Digging your fingers into your palm you inhale deeply trying to calm your frantic heartbeat.

Much that it might disgust you, you know how to do this; you know how to slam shut the inner workings of your mind from prying eyes. To save the mental breakdown and show of emotion for when you’re alone and no one can use it against you. To wipe your tears and calm yourself without a hug or a kind word.

Sure, you could find your sister and ask to talk to her. You could pull her into a coat closet and cry yet again about your situation, but it would be far too noticeable here, at the company Fall gala. There are too many people around for you to come undone now, to reveal your soft insides for public consumption.

Normally your will of steel is comforting, an armor that you slip on to hide from the world, encasing yourself in strength. But tonight it feels like a mask that separates you, instead making you feel lost, alone, and small.

Heart racing and soul aching, you desperately wish that someone, anyone, would draw you to their chest and tell you it’s going to be alright. But the world you live in is not filled with gentle words and reassuring kisses. If you want compassion right now, you have to give it yourself. 

You take three deep breaths, feeling the edges of your vision fade, battling your heart thundering in your chest, and school your expression into a flawless imitation of someone who isn’t about to pass out from a panic attack.

Turning to Chase you lean over and mutter something about ‘grabbing some air’ and make your way to the side doors of the large open ballroom. Blood rushes in your ears as you walk across the floor in Jimmy Choos that pinch your toes and distantly you think it sounds like the waves of the ocean.

Tears form at the corners of your eyes and you blink rapidly as you walk, steering swiftly and efficiently through the sea of people around you as you bolt for the exit like it’s the North star on a deep black night.

Finally, you see the doors at the corner of the room and pick up your pace. Shoving them open, you emerge onto the deserted side steps, overlooking the elaborate gardens of the Governor’s mansion.

The night is quiet, blessedly; an unseasonably cold breeze blows over your flushed skin as you stand there shaking.

The heavy slam of the doors behind you releases you from your facade and you let out a distressed sob, lifting your hand to your mouth. You stumble and almost fall as you propel yourself forward to the railing, sucking in deep breaths, staring at your shaking hands in confusion.

Not again, you think in distress, cursing yourself for not being able to keep it together.

It’s been happening more and more frequently, these panic attacks. The shortness of breath, the dizziness, the animalistic fear that claws at your throat like a beast trying to escape.

You’ve called your sister many times over the past few months. She drives over at all hours and holds your face in her hands once you’ve calmed, begging you to call off the engagement.

‘It’s eating you alive, sis. I can’t watch you be devoured by this,’ she said the third time you called her, just after Valentine’s Day a few months ago.

Closing your eyes, you try to slow your breathing, gasping in oxygen. The strings of lights in the garden, the dimming sunlight, your hands as they grip the railing; all blur as memories flash in front of your eyes in quick succession.

Your mother, complimenting the neat way you sit on the couch, hands and ankles crossed delicately, just so. Her disdainful tone as she chastises your sister for smearing cake on her dress. Her praising words as she tells you how happy she is that you’re a good girl, unlike your sister. The mixture of joy at pleasing her and confusion and sadness as you hold your sister’s hand in bed that night while she cried.

Sitting in fifth grade, your last year of school in New York before boarding school in New Hampshire. Watching Elena Smith lean over to whisper about her crush on Ben Campbell to her friend, wondering if he might her soulmate with an excited smile.

Your father, taking you to bring your daughter to work day at ten years old. The way he smiles down at you, holding you in his lap in his palatial office, telling you how proud you’ll make him one day. How this will all be yours to run in the future. The pleasure of being worthy of his attention burning bright in you for a moment before he’d gets a call and sets you down. The lonely way you read on the couch by yourself for the rest of the day while he works, hungry but afraid to mention lunch for fear of upsetting him.

The rebellious kiss you share with Andrew Banks at thirteen, when both of you are stuck at school for the holidays, desperate to feel some flicker of this feeling of love you’d read about. He’s happy to indulge you in your efforts, but his unskilled lips and hands had leave you more bereft than before.

The way your mother squeezing your shoulders as she helps you dress for the meeting, like you’re her very own doll she can mold into the perfect daughter.

Your college graduation day, standing there among the cherry trees of the quad with your parents. Surrounded by your classmates who are going off to pursue their dreams, knowing you’re heading for a life of obligation instead of freedom.

The moment you met Chase, last August.

He was the thousandth in a never ending stream of men coming to see you. He walks into the dining room playing the role of the nervous suitor. You can see through it a mile away; he’s a shark, just like your father, and even as you lift the cookie to your mouth you know in your gut he’s your match.

Something in the air changed when he came in, an awareness you’d never experienced before. You feel the sweetness dance across your tongue, finally a concept you can taste and name. Instantly, you wish it would disappear. Chase’s eyes go wide at the same moment, as he bites into a salty chip.

He’d lifts his hand to his mouth in genuine shock, turning to your parents who are waiting expectantly nearby. Their excited cheer reaches you distantly, through a haze. As your father pulls Chase into his arms for a hug, slapping him affectionately on the back, the surprise on your soulmate’s face turns into smug possession.

His future is assured, you both know this. His family is from Texas and he’s the oldest son of an up-and-coming family in the oil business. You know in that instant that your worst fears are realized, as his eyes rake down your body where you sit frozen in your chair. He’ll never have to worry about money or climbing the corporate or social ladders again.

In his mind, he’s hit the jackpot. A rich fiancé, a guaranteed position in your father’s company. The minute your mouth filled with sugary flavor he was skyrocketed straight to the top. 

He’s delighted. You want to swallow bleach to erase the taste from your tongue.

He is no romance hero, passionately searching for a partner, an equal, someone to build a life and a family with, someone to hold at night and fall in love with. No, he’s just like your father, and in that moment you’d never been so terrified. There was nothing you could do to stop the future and now months later you’re still wildly unprepared for what’s to come.

By late October he’d moved to New York to be with you, to start the job your father created for him. He took you out on a grand total of three dates before he proposed. As far as he’s concerned, you were his, getting engaged was just a formality.

If he’d done it in private you could have told him that you were only agreeing because of obligation, that you knew he had no intention to love you or care for you, and to spare you both the dramatics.

Instead he’d proposed at your family’s over-the-top New Year’s Eve party, in front of everyone you knew.

For the millionth time in your life you wished you had an ounce of your sister’s bravery. You wished you were the kind of person who knew how to stand up for herself, who could say no. But instead you did your best to appear surprised and delighted, accepting the ring and sharing your first kiss with him in front of everyone, cringing at the roughness of his mouth on yours.

He had to know how much you despised him and yet he never seemed to care. Every word that spilled from his lips was about himself, the business, the future. The things he wanted to obtain and buy. He was vain, obsessive, scheming, and cruel.

That night you became engaged he insisted on accompanying you back to your apartment and you reluctantly agreed.

Standing there, shaking on the balcony in the May evening, you can still feel his hands as they gripped your waist, pushing you against the door. His lips, artlessly working themselves against yours as you stood there in panic.

With an inhuman noise of fear and disgust, your attempts to shove him off finally succeeded. The two of you had faced each other, both breathing heavily, for several seconds.

Nature had made him your soulmate, and against your will you were attracted to him; an alarming heat came through your blood in his presence. Sure, you’d even admit that his sharp brows framed his piercing blue eyes well, that the cut of his suit showed off his physique to it’s best. 

His hands, if he’d known how to use them for pleasure instead of possession, could have made you feel beautiful, sensual, wanted.

But instead his personality battled with nature, turning any attraction you felt towards him into repulsion. For once in your life you took a stand, telling him to never touch you again, your hands balling into fists.

After straightening his tie he’d resumed his predatory approach to where you were plastered to your apartment door. Instead of attempting to kiss you again he’d braced both hands on the door behind you, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

‘You’ll be mine eventually darlin’, might as well get used to it,’ he’d taunted in a low drawl.

Walking backwards he’d held up his ring finger, pointing to the spot your wedding band would one day occupy on his skin. With a wink he’d turned and walked away, and you managed to get inside and call your sister before you fell apart.

How goddamn barbaric, you think frantically, echoing her angry words when you told her what happened. Your heart races once again, wishing you could rip the garish diamond ring off your finger and throw it into the darkness.

Unable to stand any longer, your resolve crumbles and you turn, sitting down on the cold hard stone as gracefully as you can manage with shaking legs. You fold your dress underneath you and drop your head to rest against the stately concrete support.

Emotion, so long suppressed, bubbles to the surface. Despair and fear feeling like they’re burning a hole in your stomach.

Normally you can think of something to calm yourself down - a book you’re excited to read, an upcoming volunteer shift at the children’s shelter downtown you love.

But right now your mind is a death clock, relentlessly counting down to your wedding in a few months. Your thoughts narrow in panic, unable to see any means of escape before it reaches zero.

Abruptly, you hear the door in front of you open and your eyes widen in surprise.

Fuck, you think, frantically brushing at the wetness on your cheeks, chastising yourself for forgetting where you are, for forgetting the kind of people you’re with tonight. Hundreds of predators, their ears always alert for secrets, information they can extract.

But the man standing there isn’t one you recognize, and his expression of shock morphs into confusion and then swiftly into concern as he takes in your obvious distress.

He’s dressed like every other man in the room - a fitted, expensive suit, polished shoes, slicked back hair, and a designer watch on his wrist that probably costs more than most people’s college education.

What sets him apart is the openness of his face, the genuine emotion in his deep eyes and expressive brows as he walks over and bends down in front of you. His hand darts out cautiously, coming to a stop and hovering above your knee.

His impulse to be compassionate, to reach out to another person in kindness instead of cruelty, is what undoes you. The pent up tears spill down your cheeks and you drop your head into your hands, resting your elbows against your knees as you sob.

You can’t explain it, but you know in your bones that this stranger won’t judge you for your display of emotion.

‘Please, miss, are you all right? Can I help?’ he asks, his deep, soothing voice washing over you.

Unable to stop crying now that the dam has burst, the two of you remain that way for several long seconds; you, sobbing in the growing dark, folded in on yourself, him, hovering above you in a crouch, a shield against the party and what feels like the rest of the world.

Finally, as if he can’t take it anymore, he drops his hand the final inch and gently rests it on your knee. The comforting weight is a healing balm against the pain and fear coursing through you. The anguish vanishes so abruptly that you drop your hands in confusion, meeting his eyes, just inches from your own.

This should be the moment when you pull yourself together. Wipe your eyes. Brush off your dress and stand up. Make some excuse and compose yourself, gliding back into the party as if nothing had happened.

But you can’t. Some line was crossed tonight and you can’t find it in you to care about how you appear to the people inside anymore. The thought is freeing and you give this stranger a slight smile as you dab your eyes carefully with the backs of your hands.

It feels like you and this man exist in a bubble separate from the world. He makes you feel safe and warm in a way you can’t explain and you want to stay here for as long as you possibly can. 

‘Where would I even begin?’ you say through the thickness in your throat with a weary laugh.

The man gives you a warm smile in return, reassured for the moment that you’re not in immediate distress, and gently turns and sits down next to you.

‘How about your name?’ he says, brushing off his hands and reaching one out to you. ‘Hopefully that’s not too difficult?’

You laugh out loud, the sound echoing around the space and off into the night. ‘Oh, how I wish it wasn’t,’ you start ruefully. ‘But my name is what got me in this mess.’

His brows pull together in confusion, his hand hanging there in the space between you, waiting. He doesn’t pull it back immediately, but holds it patiently as if unwilling to let you escape without telling him the truth.

Once again, you feel like being uncharacteristically honest with him. With a deep sigh you finally slide your hand into his and shake, saying your name quietly.

His expression softens as he fits the pieces together, seeming to understand without explanation the source of your distress. The twin figures of your father and your fiancé are an unspoken presence around you at all times, but with him you feel safe from them, even if only for a moment.

‘My name is Jinyoung Park. I just started working for your father’s company,’ he says before his mouth twists into a conspiratorial smirk. ‘But I don’t know anyone in there really, aside from you. So if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.’

After years, decades even, of weighing every word around everyone except for your sister the opportunity to be honest feels like a baptism, a rebirth.

You take a deep breath. Disoriented and deeply tired, but feeling inexplicably light and free, you start speaking.

His eyes never leave yours as you tell him the story, warm and deep and calming. His hand returns to where it was, coming to rest reassuringly against your knee, grounding you even as though it feels like your whole world is falling away tonight.

At some point in the ensuing half hour the light completely leaves the sky and the night grows cold. You’re so electrified to find someone who seems to genuinely care that you hardly notice when he slides off his suit jacket and slips it over your shoulders.

You tell him everything, the whole twisted journey, as straightforward and efficiently as you can. He nods at the right times, attentively asking questions. When you get to the night of your engagement party, he doesn’t say anything, but his hand flexes on your knee and anger flares to life behind his eyes.

‘And that brings us to umm… right now,’ you say a few minutes later, leaning back against the column, feeling like you’ve just run a marathon.

‘We’re supposed to get married in December. I have no idea what I’m going to do,’ you say with a laugh that is surprisingly devoid of panic.

‘Well,’ he starts, removing his hand from your knee and turning his head to join you in staring at the imposing building in front of you. You instantly miss it’s comforting presence. ‘What do you want?’

Your brows knit together in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

He chuckles, closing his eyes as a faint smile comes to his lips. ‘If I have to explain the concept of ‘want’ to you, princess, we have a lot further to go than I thought.’

You’ve heard the nickname for years. Princess.

Spat behind your back in the hallways in high school in contempt for your status, your wealth.

Taunted at you by men in college who saw you as an object. A sweet, innocent prize to be won, a thing to be possessed.

It was the way the world perceived you, the type of woman who has it all. Oh, if only they knew. 

But coming from his lips, you like it. Instead of making you feel helpless his mouth forms the words as if you’re powerful, treasured, worthy of love and respect.

‘I understand the concept, I just need a narrower focus,’ you reply, playing along. ‘Do you mean what do I want to do to cope with my life?’

‘No. I mean how do you want to feel? If you could choose your life, what would you want?’ he says quietly.

When you turn to meet his gaze he waves his hand in front of you, giving you carte blanche to speak whatever is on your mind.

This time you have no trouble finding the words. They spill out of you at a speed that should be alarming, but that instead feels like a fire, a spark roaring to life.

‘I want to capsize in love,’ you start, voice so much stronger than it was earlier.

‘I want to feel its approach like the Titanic hitting an iceberg; something huge that looms above me before consuming me. A love that has so much power it destroys my life as I know it. The kind of love that washes away everything irrelevant and fake, that lets the inessential sink to the bottom of the ocean,’ you say in a rush, looking up at the stars that are starting to appear.

‘I want a love worthy of a great story, one that builds me up instead of tearing me down day by day. This life, this – arrangement,’ you spit out with distaste. ‘It’s killing me in a cruel way. It’s a slow death, a stripping away of who I am. One day I know I’ll wake up and not even recognize myself when I look in the mirror.’

‘Who even am I? Do I exist beyond being a daughter, a future wife, a pawn in this disgusting game of power played by the idle rich and the power hungry?’ you say with fresh anguish.

The familiar thought of others who have it worse fills your mind. ‘But anyways. Who says we’re guaranteed love, anyways? Where in life is that promised? The only thing we’re given is existence, everything else is a gamble. It’s selfish to think I deserve more,’ you say, your hand curling into a fist by your side.

‘No, it’s human,’ he replies instantly, decidedly, as if anything else would be insanity. ‘Never stop wanting more.’

When you turn your head he’s staring at you, eyes level with yours. For long seconds you stay there, shoulder to shoulder on the hard concrete. His coat draped around your shoulders like an embrace. The faint scent of his cologne draws your attention in the weighted silence - woodsy, rich, comforting.

You name the emotion rising in you excitement and realize abruptly that if he asked you to go anywhere with him, right now, you would.

Unfortunately the silence, the moment, is broken by the sudden opening of the doors.

Your eyes reluctantly leave Jinyoung’s and meet Chase’s. He’s taking in the sight of you, still on the ground, yet no longer in distress. The coat across your shoulders. The man sitting next to you.

With a glance behind him he comes out onto the balcony and shuts the doors to prying eyes.

His fierce expression morphs instantly into one of bland concern, perfectly portraying the concerned fiancé. ‘There you are, darlin’. I didn’t see you come back in and got worried.’

Once again you raise your shield, covering your distress and turning back into the woman you’re supposed to be. This time it makes you feel strong, reassures you that no matter what happens, you will survive.

You hold out your hand to Chase’s, painting a grateful, shaken smile on your lips. ‘Help me up, honey?’

He blinks, grotesquely delighted at your apparent weakness and need. He feeds on it as he helps you stand. I don’t know how, but I’m going to build a life despite being tied to you, you think as you meet his eyes.

With a tilt of your head in thanks you turn back to Jinyoung who is now standing with his hands in his pockets. His burning eyes meet yours and you smile as you shrug his coat off and hand it back to him.

‘Thank you so much for calming me down, that champagne went straight to my head,’ you say, pressing a dramatic hand to your forehead and feigning a thin, unsteady voice.

His fingers, strong and warm, brush yours as he takes the coat back. ‘Don’t mention it, miss. Just happy I could help,’ he says placidly, slipping his coat back on, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. ‘Have a good evening, both of you.’

With a nod of his head he’s gone. Chase wraps an arm around your waist and leads you back into the party. He makes the rounds with you, saying he’s taking you home because you don’t feel well.

But you hardly hear his words, distracted by the thought that for perhaps the first time you might have found something, someone that will make this life tolerable.

Once outside again, you shiver in the night, feeling bereft without Jinyoung’s jacket on your shoulders.

Looking at Chase you roll your eyes. Even if you were on the brink of death you don’t think he would notice you or offer to help unless it were in front of someone he needed to impress.

Offhandedly you wonder how many other people find their soulmates only to be disappointed by how obscenely awful they turned out to be.

Once in the car he turns on sports radio, the grating sound of the host’s voices ruling out any possibility of a conversation, not that you ever hold out hope of one. 

After reliving the entire twisted path the two of you had taken to this moment, you have exactly zero desire to speak to him, let alone be in the same car as him.

No matter how many times you telling him not to touch you, he still does it. A hand on your waist at parties, running a finger along your cheek and the monthly dinners he demands you go on.

He drops a hand to your knee while he drives, as intrusively and dispassionately as he does everything else. The heat and weight of it feels imposing against your skin, so unlike the comforting presence of Jinyoung’s earlier.

‘Chase, stop,’ you say quietly, trying to nudge his hand away.

He looks over at you, down at your hand, and shakes his head like you’ve wasted his time.

Instead of removing it he squeezes tighter. The energy in the car is suddenly so suffocating you can’t stand it anymore. Like always, he treats you as if you’re his property, his birthright, and you suppose, in a way, you are. But just because you were born to be his doesn’t mean you have to succumb to it.

With the same disdain you’d use to touch a dead fish you forcefully shove his hand off your knee. ‘Chase, stop the car. I’ll walk home,’ you say firmly, lifting your voice above the radio.

He looks over at you with a sneer. 'What? Why?’

'I just can’t be here right now. Let me out,’ you say in a softer voice, attempting to be strong in the face of his obvious dismissal. ‘Now.’

'Jesus, you are so high maintenance. You’re lucky you’re rich and beautiful,’ he says roughly. ‘Just calm down, we’ll be back to your place in a few minutes.’

‘No,’ you spit out, liking the way the word sounds to your ears. ‘Stop now.’

He slams his fist against the wheel. 'Fine, be a bitch then,’ he says harshly, slamming on the breaks.

You jolt forward, looking around. You’re on a side street, barely lit from the street lamps at either end. Hardly a safe place to leave someone you care about. With a resigned sigh you open the door and hop out.

The moment you shut the door he speeds off into the night, leaving you alone. Asshole, you think, glad to be away from him. Not wanting to be stuck here another moment you pull out your phone.

For a second Jinyoung’s face flashes before you. You know without a doubt if you had his number and called him, he would come to get you. Not just because he seems like a genuinely good person, but for some reason he seems to be protective of you, you could tell the moment you met him.

You press the button to call your sister, wrapping an arm around yourself and shivering in the cool air.

She picks up a moment later. 'Hey sis, what’s going on?’ she says and you can still hear the party going on behind her.

'Lily, he- I got out of the car. Chase wouldn’t keep his hand off me and he left me on some damn back street,’ you start and you hear her make a disgusted noise. 'Can you come get me?’ you finish quietly, hating how pathetic you sound.

You could be an adult, get a cab, get yourself home. But the thought of going home alone to a cold bed is more than you can stand. Through the phone you hear her muffled voice followed by a male voice you know is Derek’s.

'We’re coming to get you now. What are the cross streets? God, I could fucking kill that man with my bare hands, I absolutely hate that you put up with him,’ she rages into the phone.

Looking around you see the street signs up ahead and read them to her. She promises to be there in a few minutes, asking you to stay where you are.

As you stand there the flames of anger lick their way through your blood, cracking off chunks of ice that have formed around your heart the past few months. She’s absolutely right, she’s always been right. For years you’ve tolerated your parents’ attempts to mold you into the perfect daughter, the perfect pet to make the family proud and your future husband delighted.

With your sister as rebellious and independent as she is they redoubled their efforts on you. And for years, you let them. Tolerating it because it made you happy to please them. Getting good grades, looking presentable, agreeing to marry Chase; all earned you scraps of the praise and affection you craved.

But standing there on the dark street corner, shivering because your fiancé is in fact, an asshole, you entertain desires you’ve shoved down over the years.

The rage inside you builds to a comforting warmth as you sink into old fantasies of love and a life built on happiness, purpose, and freedom. But instead of a rotating stream of men’s faces based on your current crush at the time, the man in your mind is instantly Jinyoung. 

Something about him awoke a need long buried in you, and for once you’re not content to smother it back into submission.

A few minutes later your sister pulls up to the curb. You slide into the backseat and she cranks up the heat. Derek hands you his coat instantly and you wrap it around yourself trying to get warm.

Neither of them makes you talk about what happened on the drive home, probably knowing they’d just be treading familiar ground and deciding to let you rest instead.

Once you all arrive at their apartment she sets you up in the guest room with a pair of pajamas and a towel.

You stand there holding the fabric to your chest and feel the rage drain out of you, leaving you feeling hollow and cold once again. Without words she pulls you into her arms as the tears run down your cheeks. For several long minutes she holds you and gives you comfort, as she’s always done.

A wave of gratitude rushes over you. ‘Thank you Lily, for always being there,’ you murmur into her shoulder.

'Take a nice shower, have a long sleep, sis,’ she says reassuringly, leaning back and running her hands up and down your arms. 'It’s all going to be okay.’

You blink and look up to her. 'Is it though? Look what my life has become,’ you sit down on the bed and shake your head dejectedly.

She joins you and wraps an arm protectively around your waist. 'I could help, you know,’ she says gently. 'Maybe you’ll finally take me up on it this time?’

You know she’s always disapproved of the way your parents encouraged you to behave. She’s said as much over the years, across dinner tables and behind closed doors after they all thought you’d gone to sleep.

She tried to encourage you to go to college out of state, to stand up for yourself and to ask for what you want. But the idea always felt terrifying and you tell her thanks, but no thanks, everything’s fine, dozens of times whenever she offers to have you come and stay with her.

Dropping your head to her shoulder you sigh. 'I don’t- I don’t know Lily. They love me, I know that deep down. Even if their way of showing it is messed up.’

She sighs, and you can feel the effort it takes her not to say more.

'I… I met someone tonight,’ you start, desperate to talk of happier things. 'At the party.’

She pulls back and looks down at you with excitement. 'As in… you met met someone?’

'Yes, I met someone. A man,’ you laugh. ‘His name is Jinyoung.’

'Do you- umm. Do you like him?’ she asks and blinks. ‘Wow, I can’t believe we’re finally having this conversation. Amazing.’

'Maybe? I’m not sure,’ you laugh to yourself. 'He was nice to me, maybe that’s the reason why I like him.’

'Well, it’s a start. I’ll take it,’ Lily says with a laugh. 'About damn time you started figuring out what you want, not just what mom and dad want.’

‘I know,’ you say, the sound turning into a yawn.

She stands and holds out her arms to you. ‘Come on, time for a shower,’ she says.

You pull her in for another hug and then finally head into the bathroom.

After a long hot shower you slip on the pajamas and crawl into bed, exhaustion and emotion pulling at your lids.

The last thing that crosses your mind before you blessedly fall asleep is a pair of warm brown eyes framed by strong brows.

When you wake it’s early morning. Blinking, the night before comes back to you. But instead of the usual panic, you feel at peace in the faint dawn light.

Your soul feels lighter after the words you finally spoke aloud last night on the balcony. Your heart feels cleansed of fear and pain and anger by the ocean of tears you cried.

Chase might have his ring on your finger, and his last name might soon be cemented onto your identity in place of your own. But he doesn’t own your heart, you think with a slight smile. He doesn’t own your mind, or your body.

As the light grows bolder you feel yourself growing stronger with it. You might not be able to escape your life, but as the day dawns you begin to think of the ways you can find freedom within your circumstances.

Lily is right, as always - this, at least, is a start.

Monday morning you arrive at work bright and early, well before even your assistant. Flipping through the company directory you pull up his photo, alarmed once again by how much you’re attracted to him.

You wait until a decent hour and call his desk, heart rising in your throat.

‘Jinyoung Park,’ he says briskly, with no trace of the compassion that filled his voice on Saturday.

You swallow, gathering yourself. ‘It’s me,’ you start. ‘From Saturday. Can I see you? I mean … if you want to.’

‘Ahhh, princess. Of course I want to see you. How are you?’ he says, warmth in his voice.

‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ you counter, a smile playing at your lips. ‘How about the cafeteria at noon? That’s a legitimate enough place to meet, right?’

He laughs. ‘Yes, it’s all very above board. I’ll see you then.’

When you walk into the cafeteria you find him instantly. Amidst the dozens of people hunched over their phones, he’s staring up at the three-story windows of the building’s expansive cafeteria.

A calmness radiates from him as he takes in the noon-time sunlight. You’re drawn to him like a beacon, his presence making the great building of stone and steel feel welcoming for once, instead of like a prison.

When you slide into the seat across from him he turns his focus to you, his smile widening. ‘It’s good to see you without tears on your cheeks,’ he says sincerely.

His concern and sweetness seem too good to be true, and a distant fear makes you blurt out the first thing on your mind. ‘Are you going to say anything? Of what I told you on Saturday,’ you say in a rush, wincing at the insistence in your tone.

‘That all depends,’ he replies with mock seriousness, leaning forward.

‘On what?’ you counter, heart sinking. You chastise yourself for not realizing that it was all a game. He’s just another viper and now he has your throat, ready to bite.

‘On if I can see you again,’ he says playfully, with a wink.

Your jaw drops in shock. ‘What do you mean if you can see me again?’

‘If I have to explain the concept of a date to you, princess, we have a lot further to go than I thought,’ he says, echoing his words from Saturday night with a grin on his undeniably handsome face.

‘But I’m engaged’ comes your knee jerk response, your eyebrows pulling together.

‘So?’ he counters, his lips twitching in amusement.

'So… it would be…umm’ you stutter, waving your hand around.

'Improper? Dangerous? Come on, you said you were being suffocated by this life. Is one date really going to hurt things?’ he asks gently, the heat in his eyes at odds with the calmness of his words. 

'I - I really shouldn't…’ you frown, biting your lip.

'But you want to?’ he asks, dropping his gaze to your mouth.

You can’t deny you’re attracted to him. He’s far more exciting than any man you’ve met in ages and you’re tempted, even if it feels like playing with fire. The idea of finding love, regardless of your marriage to Chase entered your mind on that cold street corner and hasn’t let you go since.

'Maybe it would be all right’ you say, trying to infuse the bravery and confidence of Sunday morning into the word as you meet his gaze.

'Maybe isn’t a no, but it’s not a yes either. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, I’d never dream of it. Believe me, what you said is safe with me. Whether we go out or not. Scout’s honor,’ he says, holding up three fingers and giving you a boyish smile. 'I hope you say yes though, very much.’

You let out a laugh at his endearing sincerity and feel yourself cave. 'Yes. I want to. A date then. One to start with.’

'That’s all I need,’ he says confidently, pulling out his phone.

'All you need for what?’ you counter with a raise of your brow.

'To convince you we should be together instead,’ he says without a hint of joking.

'Well you’re confident, aren’t you?’ you say, brushing your hair behind your ear. You notice belatedly that your skin has become flushed around him; an unexpected awareness and heat building low in your core in his presence.

'I felt it when I left that night, that we’d be perfect for each other. All I’m asking for it an evening to put it to the test. What’s your number?’ he asks with a wolfish grin.

You lean back in your chair with a sigh, crossing your arms. Narrowing your eyes you meet his stare dead on.

If you’d hoped the challenge would make him retreat, you couldn’t have been more wrong. As you two sit there in silence the tension only increases. You drop your attention to his full lips, to the thickness of his hair, to the dangerous swaths of his forearms revealed by his rolled up sleeves.

Oh, you want him, you admit to yourself with a sigh. You should say no. What would anyone say if they found out? In your world the moment you find your confirmed soulmate - that’s it. If you screw around and have affairs, you keep it to yourself.

Anytime such a betrayal is exposed it’s disastrous for both parties, and if your family found out you wouldn’t be exiled; no, they’d probably make you do the worst thing imaginable - marry Chase on the spot.

Curiosity wins out over trepidation. ‘What made you believe we’d be good together? What do you like about me? Was it the poor little rich girl sob story or the way tears highlight my cheekbones,’ you say dryly, belying the excitement buzzing in your stomach.

He shakes his head and laughs. When he meets your eyes he stills, his eyes holding you in place with the intensity you see there. 

‘No, it was your strength. The way you still have hope burning in you despite everything you’ve been through. You were luminous that night, honest and open and brave. And I’m just going out on a limb here to say that you’re not like that around other people, but you were like that with me.’

You blink, realizing that the limited words you’ve used to describe yourself might not be the entire dictionary. Instead of weak and afraid and trapped you try on the words open, honest, and luminous for size and find you like them.

‘I think if we were together you’d shine that brightly all the time. Your spirit is far too joyful to be stuck in a place like this and a marriage to that Texas prick,’ he says without a hint of joking.

Screw it, you think in a rush. You’ve had it with your parents’ attempts to control your life. Who says they have to know? For once you decide to take what you want, and you’ve never wanted anything as badly as you want him.

'It’s 716-989-2207,’ you say rapidly.

Triumph flares in his features as he types the number in without breaking your stare. You stand abruptly, afraid that if you stay any longer you’ll leap across the counter and beg him to leave with you this second.

'Saturday night?’ you ask, slinging your purse on your shoulder, not leaving any room for disagreement.

'Perfect,’ he answers with a wink and you turn to leave.

He texted you that afternoon to say he’d be picking you up at seven on Saturday, with equal decisiveness and you smiled at your phone for the rest of the day thinking about it.

The week flew by, anticipation flooding you every time you thought about him and your date.

It’s been ages since you’ve done anything rebellious and this is definitely the first time you’ve directly gone against your parents wishes. The thought should terrify you, knowing the consequences. But your life is forfeit, as far as you’re concerned. Might as well have some fun with it.

When he rings the doorbell at two minutes past seven you take a quick look in the mirror and smooth back your hair. Nervously, you fix an imaginary fold in your red Dior dress. With a deep breath you answer the door.

He’s even more handsome out of his business clothes. His hair messily brushed back; wearing jeans, Converse, and a black tee shirt. With a laugh you realize that you’re wildly overdressed for wherever he has planned.

'While you are absolutely stunning in that dress,’ he starts, drawing his hand across his lips and hungrily eyeing your body. 'Any chance you have any more… normal clothes?’ he laughs.

'Yes, umm. Let me go change,’ you laugh, turning so he can come in the room.

He nods his head in thanks and comes in. Suddenly, you view your space through his eyes. The enormous bookcase full of books. The classic movie posters framed on the wall. Your simple kitchen, lovingly filled with cookbooks you bought in college. Recipe upon recipe you one day hoped to cook with a partner, now dispassionately replaced by expensive dinners at fancy restaurants with your fiancé.

'I’ll be right back,’ you say quietly and head upstairs.

In your closet you take off the dress and stand there fretting. When was the last time you just had a casual evening out? you wonder with a sigh. Half your closet is professional business clothes for the office, the other is nauseatingly expensive dresses and tops and skirts for dinners and other social functions. A small stack of tee shirts and PJ pants live in a drawer for the rare times you’re able to enjoy a night in to yourself.

You pick out a relatively fitted black shirt with a graphic cover of Macbeth on it. After digging in the back of your dresser you find an old pair of jeans and pull them on. Finally you debate between exercise shoes and a pair of flats. You try to decide but end up just shrugging and bringing both downstairs.

He’s sitting on your couch when you come back downstairs holding your selections. He raises an eyebrow and laughs.

'Okay, which one? Where are you taking me?’ you say, fighting a smile.

He stands up and comes closer, far closer than strictly necessary, and you smell the woodsy scent of his cologne again. His eyes don’t leave yours as he drops a finger to touch the black Nike exercise shoes.

'Go with these,’ he says in a low voice.

Overwhelmed by his presence you step back and look down, amused by how much he affects you. You sit down on the couch and slip on your socks and shoes. Standing, you walk over and grab your clutch.

'All right, after you,’ you say, grateful to be leaving your home, anxious for a break from the alarming feeling of rightness at seeing him in your space.

He passes by with a smirk and waits while you lock your door. He holds the car door open for you, an unnecessary gesture but one that indicates his good manners. 

It’s too bad he isn’t your soulmate, you think for the hundredth time this week as he drives downtown. He’s got the manners, the wit, and the style to fit in with your family’s world flawlessly. And you actually like him.

When he parks out front of the Neon Dungeon you turn and give him a concerned look. He turns in his seat and reaches out a hand to rest on your knee. As it did Saturday night, the weight of his hand is reassuring.

‘Don’t worry. It’s just laser tag,’ he says with a boyish smile, squeezing your knee.

‘Oh, okay,’ you say, grinning at the idea of something so normal.

Once inside, the two of you get fitted with vests and handed guns and goggles. The teenager behind the counter is talkative throughout the process. 

When you’re both ready you turn to look at him and laugh; he looks absolutely ridiculous and you’re sure your get up is just as hilarious.

‘You guys are such a cute couple. Want me to take your picture?’ the girl asks, smacking her gum.

‘Umm. I don’t know, do we?’ you ask in confusion, turning to him. The idea of a photo taken on a date not by a professional photographer for the society pages sounds so… young and innocent.

'Yes, yes we do,’ he says confidently, giving you a wink.

He pulls out his phone and hands it to the girl at the counter. He opens his arm in invitation, switching his laser gun to his right hand so you can slide next to him. After a beat you step next to him, cautiously snaking your arm around his waist and feeling his arm rest along your back. You turn to the camera with a smile.

'Oh come on, you gotta make a silly face. Otherwise what’s the point?’ the girl chides.

You laugh and loosen up, pointing your gun to the sky and sticking your tongue out, scrunching your face up. After a moment she nods in approval and hands the phone to you. Flipping through the pictures you have to admit she’s right, the two of you do make a cute couple, with your matching dramatic faces.

It’s the last photo that makes your heart speed up. He’s dropped the silly face and is looking down at you fondly, a warm smile on his lips. The feeling is evident in the crinkle of his eyes. Reluctantly, you hand the phone back to him.

'Ready?’ he asks, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

'Let’s do it,’ you say dramatically, raising your fist.

He laughs and reaches down to hold your hand, effortlessly; as though he does this all the time. Chase’s hands on your body make you want to vomit, recoil, and hide. But this man, what you feel with his hand in yours is something else entirely.

Soulmates are supposed to be biologically attracted to each other, something about breeding, apparently. And yes, you can admit you find Chase objectively attractive, but being around him gives you quite the opposite reaction.

Jinyoung on the other hand, well. Being near him sends visions of his hands on your thighs, his lips on your collarbone, straight to the forefront of your mind. His touch brings comfort and fire in equal measure, and as he leads you along you wonder how you ever survived without it.

This feeling, being around him, this electric burning need, it’s what your sister always talks about. What the media always portrays, too. But you’re taken, you remind yourself, and theoretically so is he, and as you round dark corners lit by neon your mind swirls in confusion.

Once you reach the entrance to the maze he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a quick kiss to the skin there before dropping it and backing up. With a wink he turns and runs off to the right.

'Just try to catch me!’ he calls over his shoulder.

You run after him with a laugh, doing your best to aim.

An hour or so later you both emerge - sweaty, disheveled, and grinning from ear to ear. In the end he beat you by two points, but you definitely gave him a run for his money.

Taking off the goggles, his hair sticks up at messy angles, giving him a devil may care edge you can’t help but be drawn to. After turning in your gun and protective gear you follow him back to the car while he gestures excitedly, recounting some of the more dramatic moves you’d both made.

'So, how about dinner?’ he asks casually, facing you over the roof of the car.

'Sure, where do you want to go?’ you answer, feeling lighter than you have in years.

'I’ve got just the place,’ he grins.

The burly man behind the counter yells as you both enter, his cheeks ruddy from the heat of the stove. 'Hey Jinnie my boy, long time no see. How’s the new job?’ his joyful voice booms.

'Doing well, working me to the bone,’ he says, turning and giving you a wink.

The two of you find a booth in the back and he slides in next to you instead of opposite you. 'I used to come here all the time when I was studying for my MBA. Gil’s burgers and fries saved me,’ he says, looking around the place with fondness.

He sticks to neutral topics while you both order, skillfully drawing you into a conversation about your favorite books.

While you eat you keep things light; his childhood in California, a road trip you and your sister took to the Grand Canyon by yourselves for your eighteenth birthday. You leave out the months of pleading and promising it had taken to convince your parents to let you go.

Even if you trust him, even after all you’ve already said, there’s some small hurts that feel too painful to be exposed to light.

When you’re both wiping your hands on napkins you finally address the question that’s been running through your mind. 'So you’re going out with me. But what about your soulmate, aren’t you curious?’ you ask. 

He laughs to himself, setting his napkin on his plate with a sigh. 'Actually, me and Melissa were option three. We didn’t miss each other like most of the world, and we didn’t meet by the internet. We met by sheer luck,’ he says, turning back to you, his expression neutral.

'Wait, you found your soulmate?’ you say in surprise.

'Yeah, in high school. It’s… a long story,’ he says, sadness flooding his features.

You fear the worst, assuming she passed away. 'I’m so sorry Jinyoung,’ you say, reaching a hand out to cover his where it rests on the top of the table.

His brows draw together. 'What are you sorry for? You didn’t cheat on me, she did,’ he says heavily, as thought the words pain him to get out.

‘Oh, I just - the way you said it I thought she had died,’ you say in confusion.

He barks out a laugh. ‘No, nothing that dramatic. Just because we were supposed to be together doesn’t mean we have to be. It doesn’t mean we’re a match in other ways,’ he says with a tilt of his head and a shrug. 

To hear him describe his soulmate so casually, as if she’s just another relationship that didn’t work out, is both refreshing and surprising.

'So, in answer to your question, no. I don’t worry about my soulmate anymore. I’ve decided to follow my heart, instead of the path that biology prescribed for me,’ he says softly, flipping his hand so he can interlace his fingers with yours. ‘And I’ve never been more happy about it than when I met you.’

The hope his words kindle in you is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. 'Jinyoung I-’ you start.

'How about we just take it one day at a time?’ he asks, gently, giving your hand a squeeze.

'All right,’ you say. It’s impossible to fight what you feel for him anyways.

He insists on walking you up to your apartment. When you turn to say goodbye you feel the wood of your door against your back. A wave of deja vu washes over you. But while you desperately wished Chase would keep his hands off you, all you want is for Jinyoung to touch you.

He seems to feel the same, standing there; a battle taking place in his mind you can’t hope to know the details of, his hands flexing as if he’s doing his best to not reach for you.

When he steps closer you swallow involuntarily, preparing for him to kiss you. But instead he bends down, the world slowing as he gently rests his hands on your elbows before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

‘Goodnight Y/N,’ he says softly before turning, a slight smile on his lips.

You stand there watching him walk away, perplexed. With a grin and a glance skyward you unlock your door. No matter how many years you know him, you imagine he’ll always surprise you. The thought takes root in your mind and fills you with another spark of excitement.

The next morning you wake up with a smile on your face, for the first time in ages. It’s a fragile thing, this bonfire inside you Jinyoung seems to be building every time you’re near him. You could snuff this out, or fan the flames, you muse to yourself while still half asleep.

A buzzing draws your attention to your night stand. You reach a sleepy hand over and grab your phone, eyebrows drawing up when you see it’s Jinyoung calling you. Clearing your throat you prop yourself up on your elbow to answer.

'Hello?’ you say, voice thick with sleep.

'Did I wake you up princess?’ his deep voice answers, far too clear and awake for the early hour.

'No, but if you had called ten minutes ago you would have,’ you admit with a laugh.

'Darn, I was going to offer to take you to brunch to make it up to you. Maybe tomorrow,’ he says and you can almost see his lopsided smile through the phone.

'Well… why don’t you preemptively take me and then you can wake me up tomorrow,’ you say with a laugh, hope creeping into your tone.

'Sounds perfect. Pick you up in ten?’ he says, energy filling his words.

'Wait- ten minutes?’ you answer in a high voice, looking around in alarm.

'Just put on some pants and put your hair up, you’ll look amazing either way,’ he says confidently. ‘Live dangerously. I’ll see you then, princess.’

He hangs up before you can say anything and you purse your lips sassily at your phone before throwing off the covers and running to your closet.

When he knocks on your door, just over ten minutes later, you’re as ready as you can be. You threw on a warm yellow sweater over the same jeans you wore last night. In a rush you swiped on mascara, put your hair in a messy bun, and threw on the flats you almost wore last time.

It’s the most casual you’ve dressed to go out in years, but when you open the door he looks at you as though you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

'Gorgeous,’ he says, looking artfully disheveled and impossibly cute in his faded jeans and plaid button-up shirt. His hair falls across his forehead, clearly still messy from sleep, and your heart skips a beat. 'Ready to go?’

'Yes, let’s do it,’ you say, feeling your lips tilt into a shy smile.

He takes your hand in his as he makes his way to the car. While he drives he puts on a jazz station, humming along to the music, his hands tapping on the wheel.

During the night you’d convinced yourself this was a dream, a hallucination you’d invented to escape the world you found yourself trapped in. But as he drives you accept that he’s real, and here, and for whatever reason he chose you to want.

Abruptly you want to reach out and hold his hand, feeling bereft without it clasping your own. The feeling is so foreign it makes you do a double take. When was the last time you wanted someone, or something, this much?

He turns at a stoplight, noticing your attention on his hand and the undoubtedly perplexed expression on your face. With a full laugh he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

'If you want me to hold your hand, you can just ask me to, you know,’ he says with a smirk as he turns back to the road.

Your jaw drops, a noise of amusement working it’s way from your chest. Around him you find old parts of your personality coming back to you. As a child you remember being called unruly, impetuous, and demanding by your old nanny. 

You lift your hand and hold it out to him. 'Fine then. Will you hold my hand?’ you say with equal taunting.

'Excellent, I’d be happy to,’ he answers, clasping his hand in yours and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

He rests your joined hands on his thigh and you smile to yourself, biting your lip at the wave of happiness he elicits. Aside from a brief pause to exit the car his hand doesn’t leave you the entire time you eat brunch.

Both of you get pancakes and he orders hot chocolate for you, telling you its the best he’s ever had, in an assertive way that on anyone else would come across as patronizing. But he does it with a wink, excited by the prospect of having you try something that brings him pleasure. 

He does it sweetly, the exact opposite way Chase does when he orders for you, which is dismissively and assured that he knows what’s best for you without caring what you want.

You learn that he has a soft spot for Dickens and Hemingway, but Science Fiction is his favorite genre. He tells you he applied to business school on a dare from a friend, who bet him he couldn’t match his score on the GMAT. Surprisingly, he beat his friend by twenty points and got into Wharton.

Over your second hot chocolate he moves his hand to the back of your chair, toying with the edge of your sleeve. When you notice you look up at him with a wry smile.

'Sorry, can’t seem to keep my hands off you,’ he says with an amused shake of his head. ‘But yes, to my surprise I found I liked it. I like the excitement of investments. Don’t care much for the money itself, but figuring out the system has kept my interest the past few years,’ he says smiling to himself. 'What about you?’

You huff out a breath, sighing at the reminder of your career. 'Well, I’m a junior partner. As you can probably guess, my father is grooming me to be CEO someday. I only graduated two years ago but he’s already pestering me to follow in his path and get an MBA,’ you say, pursing your lips at the thought.

He barks out a laugh. 'You hate it, don’t you?’

Your jaw drops, stunned again at how direct he is. His honesty is a drug and you are always surprised when you get another hit. In response the unruly thing inside demands you be equally frank with him.

'Yes. I completely hate it,’ you say bluntly.

'So, why don’t you quit?’ he asks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

'I-’ you start and then abruptly stop. 'I’ve never thought about it. It’s the family business, I can’t just… leave.’

‘Well, what does your sister do?’ he says gently.

'Oh, she’s a speech therapist. She works with kids. She loves it,’ you say longingly.

'Again - why don’t you quit?’ he asks, the logic in his words worming their way past the ironclad path of your life you’ve bought into. At your pause he switches tactics. 'Okay, how about this, what do you love doing?’

You meet his eyes, lifting a brow as you consider the question. 'Aside from reading? Wow. Umm… I have no idea.’

Leaning forward his eyes burn into yours. His voice is low when he speaks, his breath cascading across the exposed skin of your neck. 'If I have to explain the concept of love to you, princess…’

You tilt your head back and let out a laugh, caught off guard by him once again. The sound is unfamiliar to your ears, bold and joyous and a bit wild. He joins you in your laughter, moving his hand to your knee to give it a reassuring squeeze.

'I’ll think about it and let you know once I figure it out, okay?’ you say when you can speak again.

'Sound perfect,’ he says with a wink, bending down to take another bite of his breakfast.

An hour later, back at your apartment, you stand next to your door with him for the second time in twenty four hours. Last night you wondered if he might kiss you, today you’re desperately hoping he will. But once again he says goodbye with a fond wave and slides his hands into his pockets, turning to go.

Something in you makes you reach out for him. 'Wait,’ you start and he turns back around. ‘Do you want to come in? I don’t have any plans today.’

He grins in response. 'What did you have in mind?’ he asks casually.

'How about a movie?’ you offer. That sounds like something people would do on a date.

His eyes light up. 'Excellent.’

He follows you inside once again. The space always felt like your hideaway from the world. Chase has never been here, you’ve never let him. Even your sister has only visited once. But he seems to make it complete, you realize with a start as he moves to the kitchen easily.

You laugh as he starts looking in cabinets. 'What are you looking for?’

'Popcorn,’ he answers, as if the answer is obvious.

'Oh, I don’t know if I have any,’ you say, moving into the kitchen. He makes a noise of surprise and shock and you laugh again. With a smile your hands pull gently at his shoulders and you steer him to the couch. 

'I’ll find some snacks, you pick a movie,’ you say authoritatively.

He gives you a salute and gets to work. Eventually he settles on Star Trek: Into Darkness. You raise a brow at him when you sit down, laying out the snacks on the table in front of you.

Sliding an arm around your waist, he smiles. 'It’s got adventure, romance, humor, and science fiction. It will give you a taste of everything,’ he says confidently. 'If you don’t know what you like we can just start broadly.’

You shrug and unwrap a bar of chocolate, breaking off a piece and putting it in your mouth as you watch the opening credits.

Throughout the movie you lean further against him, and he responds in kind. As it goes on you cross your legs with his. Later, he lays down with his head on the armrest, easing you down beside him. You feel an ease, a comfort, at his touch, like a familiar blanket on a cold winter’s day.

Around him you realize you’ve stopped caring about looking perfect. It hardly even bothers you that your hair has started coming out of your elastic in messy sections, or that you have a dob of chocolate on the sleeve of your sweater. He feels like a missing piece fitting into place in your life, one you hadn’t even realized was absent.

His hand on your hip, the warmth of his chest where it presses against your back, his low voice as he fills you in on information from the first movie that you can’t remember; every part of him fits with every part of you, excites you in a way you didn’t believe could exist in reality.

The characters on screen share a kiss at one point, a kiss of love and promise and hope. You turn slightly so you can look back at him, your eyes darting down to his lips for a second.

'Last night you almost kissed me,’ you say. It’s not a question, but you’re waiting for his answer anyway.

'Yes,’ he answers in a low voice, lifting a hand to brush your hair off your face.

'Why didn’t you?’ you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He bends and presses a soft kiss to your forehead and your eyes drift closed as his lips remains there for several seconds.

'I want you to know I’m not like him, your fiancé. I’ll never take things from you that you don’t give to me willingly. And I won’t kiss you until you ask me to,’ he says.

When you meet him the look in his eyes is raw with want. It makes you feel needed. Exposed. Alive.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, you turn in his arms until you’re facing him. He doesn’t look at you with expectation, but curiosity. He looks at you like he’s ready to be surprised by the details of you, while knowing that the broad outline of you is everything he’s been looking for.

In a bold move that shocks you, but apparently not him, you lean forward, bringing your face close to his. Reaching out a tentative hand you trace your thumb along the curve of his jaw, delicately wrapping your hand around his neck.

'Jinyoung, will you kiss me?’ you say, heart hammering in your chest. 'Please?’

He grins, warmth flooding his eyes and propelling him forward. His lips meet yours and your eyes fall closed. With a sigh against your mouth he moves his hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your legs tangle together in your effort to get closer, your hips pressing against his.

It feels like someone has doused you in gasoline and lit a match. Heat races down your spine like wildfire as he holds you against him, kissing you as if he had all the time in the world to become acquainted with the way you taste. 

You drown in the sensation, keeping up with him as best you can, unused to the feeling of kissing someone you actually want.

He pulls back for a moment, lifting his hand to cup your face, eyes dancing across your features joyfully. His other arm maneuvers you on top of him, your legs on either side of his waist, pressed flush against him. When he leans forward, drawing his tongue along your lower lip, opening you to him, a moan escapes you.

You both laugh at the sound, giddy with excitement at finding each other, and this connection.

'I want you,’ you say, breathing deeply, both confused and excited at the prospect.

Desire, an old language you thought was lost to you, rushes out from the recesses of your memory. He chuckles and buries his face in your neck, pressing a kiss there, tasting your pulse with his lips.

'I want you too. I’d tear your clothes off in a heartbeat,’ he says in a low voice that thrills you. Pulling back he rests his forehead against yours. 'But I think we should take it slowly.’

You nod, settling for reaching your hand up under his shirt and pressing against the broad expanse of his back. He finds your lips again and you pass hours lost in each other on the couch as the day passes by.

This time when he leaves it’s dark out, and the air around you both is saturated with electricity. Your lips are red and sensitive; the ghost of his touch dances along your back, your hips, your waist.

You lean back against the door as you listen to his footsteps, a giddy smile tugging at your lips, filled with excited for what’s to come.

Something changed in you today; a part that you always kept hidden from Chase is suddenly out in the open, claimed and spoken for before you had even consciously realized it existed.

Over the course of the long, sunny month of June, you fall in love with him. There’s no other way to describe the feeling that rises in you at the mere thought of him.

You fall for him in arcades deep downtown, far from prying eyes. During brunches and lunches and dinners in small, out of the way places. In bookstores and movie theaters and curled up on the couch, you give your heart to him.

His lips have mapped the length of your arms, found the hidden spots behind your ears, memorized the taste of your mouth, but still he hasn’t pressed you for more.

His hands know the curve of your waist and the feel of the back of your knees but he doesn’t know what it’s like to be inside you, though you both know the time will come eventually.

For how hectic your life normally is, this month feels like a luxurious escape; somehow entire swaths of time reveal themselves just for him.

You still work of course, and reluctantly you still attend parties and functions with Chase, though he gratefully hasn’t touched you or tried to drive you home again. The relationship now feels as it always has been, you suppose - a business agreement. The less you think of it, the better.

Unfortunately you are due to spend all of Fourth of July weekend at your family’s house in the Hamptons. An entire weekend without Jinyoung makes you want to scream, and even worse, Chase will be there.

You survive most of Friday by getting lost among other people at the ongoing party on your parents estate. As lunch bleeds into cocktail hour you join random conversations, laughing and smiling along. You sneak off to the bathroom to text Jinyoung often, avoiding Chase and your parents as best you can.

The times you do run into your fiancé you’re convinced he’s been body snatched like in one of Jinyoung’s favorite films he showed you. 

He’s being… nice. Respectful. He seems genuinely curious of your thoughts and opinions. Your cousin leans in as he approaches again, saying how lucky you are your soulmate is so handsome.

The whole effect is unsettling in an entirely new way and you try to keep your distance from both of them.

‘Can I grab you another drink, darlin’?’ he asks, grinning broadly at you, looking surprisingly attractive in his partially unbuttoned shirt and angular sunglasses.

‘Umm. Sure. Thanks,’ you say in confusion, staring after him as he bypasses the bar and walks inside.

You turn to resume your conversation with your cousin, but a motion draws your attention. Your father watches Chase like a hawk and strides after him. Something prickles your intuition and you excuse yourself from the conversation, following after them.

The lights are dim inside. On a sunny clear day like this not even the hired servers are inside. The voices draw you to the kitchen straightaway. When you approach the crack in the door the severity of your father’s voice makes you instinctively press a hand to your chest in fear.

‘…what did I tell you? You know what’s at stake here, boy,’ comes your father’s ferocious baritone, free of it’s usual forced levity.

‘I know, sir. I’m doing my best,’ you hear Chase answer, his voice tight. ‘She still hates me though.’

‘I don’t care if you’re both miserable. You do whatever it takes to make sure she marries you, you hear me?’ he commands.

‘Yes, sir. I’ll get it done,’ Chase answers, chastised.

‘Good,’ comes your father’s reply, alarmingly close to where you stand on the other side of the door.

In a second you’ve dashed around the corner and hidden on the other side of the bookshelf in the shadows. You’re sure he’ll hear the frantic beating of your heart but he strides out of the room. Chase follows a moment later, muttering curses under his breath.

Once you’re alone you finally process what you’ve heard. Not ‘treat my daughter well.’ Not ‘make her happy.’ But the brutal and cold fact that your father couldn’t care less about you.

The harsh truth of it is like a knife in your ribs and your heart sinks. Lily was right all along, you think sadly, tears coming to your eyes.

A sudden buzzing sound makes you look down at your purse. Pulling out your phone you see Jinyoung has sent a picture of him in bed with a large swath of the empty bed next to him in the frame.

Wish you were here with me, princess. I miss you.

His hair is disheveled and he’s wearing his favorite grey baseball tee, you can practically feel it through the phone. Sadness turns into resignation before blossoming quickly into rebellion. You head into the bathroom and fix your make up.

Without waiting you walk into the guest room, grab your suitcase, and pull up your phone to order a Lyft. The price of getting from Southampton back to downtown on a Friday night is astronomical, but you couldn’t care less, charging it to the company credit card your father gave you.

‘It’s the least you can do, dad,’ you say savagely to yourself.

Flipping back to Jinyoung’s message you reply. I can’t be here any longer, I’m coming back. Tonight. Can I come over?

His answer comes a few seconds later. Of course. No matter how late it is I’ll be waiting. Are you okay?

You smile to yourself, wishing you were already in his arms. The world seems to only make sense around him, and you ache to hear his voice and to touch him.

Long story. Family drama. I miss you too. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

You find your sister in the crowd to tell her you’re leaving. When you pull her aside and say you’re done with this stupid party she bites down a whoop of excitement. 

‘Finally!’ she says with a squeeze of your arm. ‘Don’t you worry about mom and dad or your unfortunate soulmate. I’ll cover for you.’

With a strong hug you leave, pushing through the party much like you did weeks ago. Last time you were running from something, this time you feel like you’re running towards the best thing you’ve ever had. 

When you come upstairs he opens the door at your footsteps, pulling you into his arms like it’s been years, not days, since you saw him last. You pull back to look him in the eyes, fisting your hands in the fabric of his shirt at his waist.

‘Please touch me,’ you say in a rush, letting out a laugh and grinning at him.

‘Thank god,’ he says, huffing out a laugh and reaching for you.

He complies instantly, guiding you into the apartment and shutting the door. His hand finds the curve of your lower back, his lips coming to the spot below your ear that makes your knees weak. 

You lift your arms to wrap around his neck, needing there to be as little space between you as possible. The firm planes of his chest graze along the sensitive skin of your breasts, teasing your nipples into peaks. He drops a hand to the exposed flesh of your thigh, dragging his fingers lightly upwards, far too slowly for your frantic need. 

A noise of frustration leaves you and he pulls back, his warm breath cascading over the now hypersensitive skin of your neck. His fingers tease the delicate, private skin of your inner thigh, just a breath from where you need him most. 

The centers of his eyes are molten lava when they meet yours, sending a wave of heat to your core. Pent up desire and raw need course through you, somehow unleashed by his hands on your body, his tongue and lips on your skin. Now that it’s out the only thing you crave is to know what the hard length of him feels like deep inside you, and what he looks like when he comes.

The corner of his mouth pulls up devilishly. ‘What’s wrong princess?’ he asks in a low, teasing voice. 

You swallow harshly, arousal blurring the edges of your vision as he continues stroking the sensitive flesh just outside your center.

‘Jinyoung please -’ you manage.

‘Mmm?’ he murmurs, lightly tracing the tips of his fingers over your underwear, drawing upward. ‘Use your words darling.’

With a gasp your hand tightens on the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. The sensation is so erotic that you whine, feeling more exposed and turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. He stops at your clit, his hand frozen as his eyes cement you to the door. 

You know him, he won’t go further until you ask. He won’t make you beg, he doesn’t seek to control you the same way Chase would. But he’s going to make you say it. 

It’s always been his way, you realize with a breathy laugh, to make you speak your desires into existence. He insists that you own yourself, wholly and completely, and that you ask for what you want before he’ll give it to you.

With your other hand you trail a path down from his neck to his chest and ever so slowly down to the buckle of his belt. You watch as his eyes blacken, heat and a need to bury himself inside you burning through his veins. 

Leaning forward you whisper against his lips. ‘Jinyoung, please fuck me.’ 

You close the distance and pull his lower lip between your teeth, gently releasing it as he groans. 

‘It would be my pleasure,’ he manages to say in a harsh moan. 

The hand he has at your back is scorching as he presses you closer, his fingers finally, blessedly, stroking your clit. The sensation is so delicious your eyes close and galaxies burst to life behind your lids.

Reluctantly, your hand leaves his belt to fist in the fabric of his shirt as you cling to sanity. You feel him, hard against your thigh, and clench your legs together in anticipation. The moisture at your core is surely soaking through your underwear at this point, a liquid feeling of arousal coursing through your body like you’ve never felt before. 

Suddenly you crave his skin against yours. As he always seems to do, his presences makes you go for what you want. You lift your hands to skirt along the skin of his sides, making him inhale sharply.

‘I want to feel you,’ you say, tugging his shirt up. 

He chuckles and helps you pull off the fabric. Seeing his exposed flesh makes your mouth water, but before you can touch him he drops his hands to the edges of your dress, raising a brow and lifting the material an inch.

You nod and he eases it up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. A voice inside you whispers that you should cover yourself and feel exposed or embarrassed. 

But you silence that voice. Before him you feel strong, beautiful, wanted. He draws a lazy finger across his lips as he takes in the naked expanse of your skin, covered only by your bra and underwear. 

‘God, I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he says distractedly, reaching out a hand to trace the edge of the fabric at your hips.

You tilt your head back against the wood of the door, letting him see the long expanse of your neck, your pulse racing for him and only him. 

‘What are you waiting for?’ you ask in a voice so confident and sensual it surprises you. 

He watches hungrily as you draw your hands behind you and unclasp your bra, following the skin revealed as you slide it down your arms, baring yourself to him. When you lift your palms to run them over your stomach, coming to a stop just above your underwear, he finally moves. 

‘No, let me,’ he says on an exhale, his voice needy.

He drops to his knees in front of you, trailing featherlight kisses along the skin of your navel, kneading the backs of your thighs with his hands. This time he doesn’t make you wait and you mutter fragments of prayers, of thanks, as he tugs the fabric off you and guides you out of it. 

In an instant his tongue finds you wet and ready for him, swirling around your clit and drawing a gasp from you. One of his hands holds you steady, pressing your hip against the door while the other spreads your folds before he eases a finger into you.

The apartment around you swims in your vision as he moves the digit steadily in and out. Your hands bury themselves in his hair, holding on for dear life as he adds a second finger. His tongue moves faster, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a steady, insistent pace, curling against your inner wall. 

Your cries grow erratic, your breathing becomes desperate as your release builds in you. Just when you think you’re about to black out from desire he pulls his fingers from you, removes his lips from your clit, and looks up at you.

He stands and holds your hips, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your mouth. He pulls back an inch to meet your gaze, a wildness in his eyes you’ve never seen before. When you draw your tongue across your lips you can taste your wetness. 

‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ he asks in a whisper, needing to hear how badly you want him. ‘Only me and no one else?’

You nod frantically, reaching for his belt, undoing it before moving to his zipper, your eyes never leaving his. He hisses with pleasure as you slide the fabric down, brushing his erection with your thumbs. Once he’s free of the material, clad in only his underwear he reaches for you, bending to lift you into his arms. 

‘I don’t want anyone but you to ever touch me again,’ you say, slanting your lips against his, holding onto his shoulders for support. ‘Please take me Jinyoung,’ you breathe against his mouth.

He groans, moving to kiss along your shoulder. While he walks you to the bedroom he trails his tongue along your tendons, teasing your neck, stoking the fire within you again.

Once inside he sets you on the bed he turns, grinning while he digs in drawers, searching for a condom. He finds one and holds it up triumphantly, making both of you laugh. In a flash he’s stripped off his underwear, torn the package, and sheathed himself. 

You work your way back onto the bed, laying down. He crawls after you, spreading your legs so he can settle himself between them. For all your frantic need and the orgasm teasing at your spine, waiting to be released, the moment he pushes inside you, everything stops.

Long seconds pass as he stares down at you, braced on his elbows, his soul claiming you just as effectively as his body. Once he’s fully inside you time slams back into motion. You wrap your legs around his waist, grasping for his back and his shoulders as he begins to move in you.

Both of you are so keyed up it takes less than ten thrusts for your need to hit a fever pitch. He reaches a hand to your hip, holding you still so he can work himself in you. 

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands, his words muffled against your neck. ‘Come with me.’

You slide your hand between your bodies, drawing it down to rub circles around your clit. A moment later and the dam within you breaks. With a sob you grab at him desperately as your orgasm rushes through you. He follows a second later, groaning and thrusting into you messily as he rides out his own release. 

For long minutes the only sound in the room is his breathing and yours, slowing down as the world comes back into focus. Eventually he eases his way out of you and presses a kiss to your temple before heading to the bathroom to clean himself up, saying he’ll be right back.

You stretch on the bed feeling full and sated, limbs heavy and eyes pulling closed. Laying there in the blissful silence you allow the real world to intrude for a moment. You think about your soulmate with a wince; you don’t want anyone to know your body but Jinyoung. 

Lily says with Derek it’s like nothing she’s ever felt before, but even if you could stand to be around Chase, even if it was the most physically pleasurable thing you’d ever experienced, you know it would leave you hollow. 

You know it wouldn’t even come close to what you feel with Jinyoung. Sex with him has filled places in your heart you didn’t know existed, made you feel whole, loved, and seen. 

Later that night, with the moonlight spilling in through the gaps in his blinds, you tell him what happened today, what you heard and what it made you finally accept. He pulls you into his chest and holds you close, whispering reassurances, saying all the words you always dreamed someone would say to you. 

As you drift off to sleep an unexpected image comes to your mind. Jinyoung, laughing and holding a little girl with your eyes and his smile, spinning her around, the wind making a mess of both their hair. In the place between consciousness and sleep you realize this is what it looks like when a father loves a child the right way, and you know that the three of you are happy in a way you never experienced growing up.

When you can no longer put it off you reluctantly agree to go dress shopping in late July. You try to only take your sister, but your mother insists on coming along. 

While she snips at the assistant, demanding ‘more beading, you ignorant cow,’ your sister pulls you into the dressing room.

'Spill,’ she says, folding her arms and fixing you with her notorious stare.

'Spill what?’ you counter, desperately trying to pull the fabric away from your ribs so you can breathe.

'Don’t what me, I can read you from a mile away - you’re happy. Very much not the person who was sobbing dejectedly in my arms in May,’ she says and raises a brow. ‘So. Spill.’

You can’t fight the happiness that fills you when you finally turn to look at her. ‘Okay fine. It’s that guy, the one I mentioned that helped me at the Gala.’

Her jaw drops and she lightly whacks your forearm with the back of her hand. ‘Oh my god, you’ve kept this from me for months? I’m so hurt, wow. I thought we were sisters,’ she says dramatically, fighting a grin.

You look down at your hand, nervously twisting your ring. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t plan on it. It’s just… he’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m absolutely terrified something will ruin it,’ you say, brows pulling together. ‘If I talk about it it means it’s real and it can be taken it from me.’

She softens, reaching out to grab your elbows. She leans in and gives you a knowing look. ‘That’s how you can tell it’s love, sis. If you didn’t care for him a whole hell of a lot, you wouldn’t be terrified,’ she says with a sympathetic laugh.

‘But Lily. Come on, look where we are,’ you say in a distressed whisper, grabbing two handfuls of tulle and glancing around the fitting room. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do?’

‘Well, do you want to be with him?’ she asks gently.

The idea of being able to marry Jinyoung, instead of Chase makes you close your eyes from the sheer force of your want. ‘I wish I could. I can’t marry him though, I have to marry Chase, even if the idea makes me want to vomit. If only he was my soulmate this would all be easier.’

‘So, there’s a bit of an obstacle,’ she says, feigning lightness. When you look up to meet her gaze she turns fierce, reaching out to hold your face so you can’t run away from the truth she’s about to say. ‘Even if he’s not your soulmate it doesn’t mean he’s not the one you’re destined to love.’

She carries on, her voice raising. ‘I’ve wanted to kick that Texan prick between the legs for months now. He doesn’t deserve you. He’s never going to love you the way he should and if he ever touches you without your permission again I’m going to rip his arm off. It sounds like you love Jinyoung, and from the look on your face I think he loves you too. If you want this you have to fight for it.’

A cough draws your focus and your heart sinks when you turn and see your mother standing there, pulling back the curtain, holding a veil.

'Who’s Jinyoung?’ she says pointedly.

‘No one,’ you say in a rush, smoothing out your dress and feeling fifteen years old again.

She strides into the room, moving between you and your sister with authority. Her lips purse, the disdain evident in her eyes as she places the veil firmly on your head.

‘If you’re going to have an affair at least wait until after the wedding,’ she says in a clipped tone. ‘It’s distasteful.’

Your jaw drops, indignation running through your veins. ‘But forcing me to marry a man I hate, a man who I can’t stand to be in the same room with, is fine? He treats me like dirt, do you even care?’ you ask, a sudden rawness in your throat.

Lily stands to your mother’s side, arms folded and nails digging into her skin. You know she’s fighting the urge to defend you yet again. But you’re an adult, and both of you know it’s time that you fight your own battles.

‘It’s just what’s done dear, don’t make a fuss,’ she says, not meeting your eyes while she fixes the fabric of the veil so it falls smoothly.

‘Mother, this is insane. Why even get married then, if it’s all for show? Yes, nature wants me to be with him, but what about what I want? Don’t I have any free will, any choice in this?’ you ask, silently begging for her to meet your eyes.

After your father’s ambivalence towards you was revealed you’re desperate for her to show even an ounce of care, but deep in your heart you know the warmth and affection you’ve always wanted from her is just a child’s dream.

‘Y/N. I won’t tolerate this,’ she says decidedly, her eyes cutting like shards of ice when she finally meets yours. 'You will do what is right and marry Chase. That’s the last we’re speaking of this.’

She turns, lifting the curtain. ‘That dress and veil are perfect, I’m going to the register to purchase it.’

In a flash she’s gone. With your father you felt a violent sadness, a betrayal so deep you couldn’t even find the words to articulate it. Now, with your mother, you feel only the absence of emotion. Where you know there should be anger, disappointment, and loss you only feel a void.

Lily grabs your shoulders and squeezes lightly until you look up. 'Y/N, you’re an adult. The choice is yours, remember that,’ she says, lifting a hand to your cheek the way she did a thousand times growing up.

You nod and allow her to pull you into her arms for a brief hug.

Seated next to him at his dining room table, on a Sunday in late August, you watch Jinyoung thoughtfully.

The way his smile goes lopsided and his eyes drift closed when he take a bite of something he particularly likes. The feeling of his hand on your thigh, warm and reassuring, while you two eat. The way you two can enjoy a peaceful silence together without the need to fill it with words.

‘How was today?’ he asks softly, reaching out a hand to brush your hair behind your ear.

Your mother forced you to join her on the to visit the florist today to finalize arrangements. The ridiculous floral creations your mother envisioned had delighted the bleach blonde young man, who told you he goes by Bambam, but only served to remind you that in just over three months you’re supposed to be marrying Chase.

When you don’t think about Chase, or your family, or your wedding, things are fine. But the moment your thoughts wander down those paths your mind slams shut, barely keeping in your growing panic. 

Closing your eyes you lean your head against his palm. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ you say softly.

‘Okay,’ he say, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. ‘We’ll have to though, eventually.’

His words are said gently enough, but their effect is akin to an avalanche. You sit up abruptly, anxiety flooding your veins, making you anxious. 

‘Why do you want to be with me anyways?’ you ask dismally. ‘Why not find someone with less baggage.’

He frowns, unnerved by your question. ‘What do you mean?’

‘My family is a mess,’ you say dispassionately, twisting your wine glass by the stem.

He opens his mouth to be reassuring, but you cut him off. ‘By the way - what’s your deficiency?’ The question forces its way out of you, and once you say it you wonder why you’ve never stopped to consider it before.

He sighs, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Why does it matter anyways?’ he says through gritted teeth, worried by the direction the conversation is taking.

A beat later he softens. ‘I can’t taste bitterness. Happy?’

‘So close,’ you laugh. The sound is hollow to your ears. ‘Mine’s sweetness. Why couldn’t you just have been my soulmate?’

‘I could be. I believe in the love we make, in the people we choose. Melissa and I chose to end things. I’m choosing you,’ he says, reaching out to hold your hands in his. ‘What are you going to choose?’

Your mind swirls. It should be easy, to choose him. To leave your family and make a new one. But for some reason you can’t let them go. Despite it all, some part of you still wants to make them proud, is unable to disappoint them, to scandalize the whole city.

Once again you feel trapped, between a family you can’t leave and a man you can’t live without. If it weren’t for his hands holding you, you know your mind would split apart from the force of your thoughts pulling at you.

He’s been patient, kind, loving. Never pressuring you to choose him or asking more of you thank you can give, but tonight something inside him seems to break as he senses your hesitation.

‘Y/N. I love you,’ he says desperately, refusing to let you look away from him. ‘I’d give up everything for you because you’re the only thing that’s ever felt this right. I won’t ask you for anything ever again, but if you can’t choose me… I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Thinking of you being his. His fucking ring on your finger, his hands on you. Even just thinking of him being around you makes me so angry and sick I can’t breathe,’ he says in a rush. He says the words like he’s pulled each one from his lips like nails from a wall.

He stands, gently letting go of your hands and running his fingers through his hair in agitation. ‘All I want to know is this - are you going to marry him?’

‘Jinyoung, I- I need time, you don’t know what it’s like in my family,’ you say frantically. ‘It’s not something I can decide right now.’

He gets down on his knees, reaching for you arms. ‘Just tell me, please, what do you want?’

That word again - want - threatens to suffocate you. 

You want him, all of him, forever. You want your family to be whole, for them to give a shit about more than just appearances. You want your father to care more about protecting you and your happiness than his reputation. You want your mother to love you like she should, to take you into her arms and tell you to follow your heart.

But none of those things are how the world actually is. Harsh reality sinks into your bones and fear claws at your throat as at the strength of your want threatens to drown you. 

Suddenly you can’t breathe, just like that night on the balcony ages ago. It feels like you’ll crack into a million pieces if you stay around him for another second, even if the thought of being away from him makes you want to sob.

‘I’m sorry Jinyoung, I can’t do this right now,’ you say in distress, turning from him and standing.

Though it breaks your heart you grab your purse with shaking hands and leave. For once he lets you go, and doesn’t come after you. In not choosing him tonight you know you’ve ruined things. 

The night is unseasonably cold and you walk home, clutching your arms around yourself and wishing you could sink into the concrete. Hours, days later it feels like, you walk in your apartment and fall into your bed fully clothed. You let the numbness of sleep pull you under.

Your assistant pops her head in just after six in the evening, a week later. It’s been seven days and you haven’t seen or spoken to Jinyoung. It might as well have been a thousand years for how old and dried out and blank you feel.

'Hey, your father just called. He wants you to go up to his office as soon as you can,’ she says, and from her sympathetic expression you can tell that this command was framed as a demand, not a request.

'Thank you, I’ll go up in a minute,’ you answer, dread settling into your stomach.

'Need anything else before I head out?’ she says, smiling reassuringly.

'No, you’re fine to go. Thank you. Have a great night,’ you answer in an attempt at normalcy.

She waves and you hear her chatting happily with the receptionist as they gather their belongings and head for the elevator. 

For several minutes you’re frozen at your desk, fear clutching your heart. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen, before you finally move.

The journey up to his office seems to take an eternity. You do your best to put on a smile for your father’s assistant as you pass her but it falls the moment you see that Chase is also standing in the office. 

When you get near he pins you with his stare, once again making you feel like prey in front of him. The skin on your arms prickles with unease.

‘There you are,’ your father says in an annoyed tone, glancing up from his work. ‘Took you long enough.’

When you step into the office and shut the door he lifts his eyes to you, looking like a hawk over the rims of his glasses.

‘What’s this I hear about you delaying sending out the invitations to the wedding?’ he asks, disapproval giving his voice an edge.

You look to Chase and he shrugs dispassionately.

‘Your mother told me about your little dalliance, Y/N,’ he says with a sneer. ‘Deal with it. You’re getting married, whether you want to or not. It’s time you grew up. You can’t just expect to…’

Different endings to this day, different ways you could walk out of this office, run through you while he carries on. 

You could cower, submit, sacrifice your dignity and your heart for his approval as you always have. You could yell at him, demanding that the make amends for the years of benign, and not so benign, neglect he and your mother have forced on you.

Or… I could just leave. The thought is oddly calming. 

The idea that you don’t have to fight or beg for his love, for any of their love anymore, is freeing. Because you already have the greatest love you could ever imagine with Jinyoung, and it’s something whole and pure and separate, and they can never take it from you.

Sometimes walking away isn’t a surrender, it’s giving yourself the gift of closure, you decide, looking at Chase. His brows draw together in concern as he reads your expression.

‘I quit,’ you say slowly, loudly. The words reverberate around you and your father finally stops talking and looks up at you.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he says, but at the sight of you standing tall and unflinching he seems to hesitate.

‘I’ll hand off my projects to Analise and be out of my office by the end of the week,’ you say with a savage grin. 

‘Oh, and I’m not marrying you, either,’ you say, turning to Chase. He stutters, taking a step towards you. 

Reaching out a hand you stop him in his tracks. ‘That’s quite close enough,’ you command, twisting your ring off and setting it on the table. Instantly you feel a weight lifted from you.

‘Goodbye father.’ With a last look at Chase’s shock and your father’s upset face, his cheeks bright red in anger, you turn to leave.

‘Now just you wait one minute,’ he starts, standing. You’ve never seen him look so unsettled.

‘What are you going to do, restrain me?’ you ask in a rush, holding your ground. He blanches, leaning back. ‘That’s what I thought. You might have made me feel weak and dependent, for years, but it’s over. I’m done letting you control my life.’

You shove out of the building feeling needy, restless. An electricity runs down your arms, all your thoughts turning to Jinyoung.

For a moment you debate, unsure about calling him given the last time you saw him. But you give in and hit the call button, knowing perhaps as you’ve always known that wherever your road was leading in life, he would be at the end of it.

‘Y/N? What is it, are you okay?’ he asks, the his voice muffled by the sounds of a crowd around him. He’s probably just getting off the subway now, you think, looking at your watch.

‘Can I come over?’ you say, the edge clear in your voice. Your words are too full of need, too fast, too blunt to be romantic.

‘Of course,’ comes his immediate reply. ‘Do you need me to come get you or can you get a taxi?’

‘I’ll grab a taxi. I’ll be there soon,’ you answer, relief flooding you that you’ll be with him soon.

Every second of the ride feels like it takes ages. You can’t explain the sheer need that courses through you, your hands aching to touch him. In a blur you pay the driver, get out of the car, and dash up the steps to his apartment.

He opens the door, his tie loosened and his eyes scanning you up and down, needing to make sure you’re alright. 

Before he can say anything you drop your purse to the floor and push him gently backward with one hand, shutting the door behind you with the other.

You were always taught to be soft, shy, demure. Every word from your parents mouths formed you into an innocent girl, waiting to be saved. Sex, barely mentioned in your world, was no more than a necessary act to be done as quickly as possible. Women were to be wanted but never to want.

But tonight you do not want to give yourself to him gently. Tonight you want to take, selfishly, without caring about being sweet and soft.

From the intent look in your eyes you know that he understands, and something in him rises to meet the hungry need in your blood.

His back reaches the couch and you collide with him, the buckle of his belt digging into the soft flesh of your abdomen. Your hips roughly meet his in a clash of skin and breath as you dig your fingers into his shoulders. 

Slanting your mouth across his, you clutch him to you so tightly you fear he may shatter beneath the weight of your desire.

But he does not break. He rises to meet you, lifting your dress and shoving his hands under the fabric of your underwear to grab the flesh of your ass. He groans into your open mouth so harshly it’s more akin to an animalistic growl than any noise of pleasure you’ve heard from him before.

His breathing is as ragged as yours, his movements just as rough. He knows what you need without you having to articulate it. A rush of gratitude rises in you. As he lifts you into his arms, walking with you backwards to the couch the only thing you can think is how he’s the only home you’ll ever need.

Both of you know tonight isn’t a night where you’ll come with a soft sigh, your orgasm rushing along your veins like a river of warmth. Tonight is not one of the times when you fall together in beautiful harmony.

Tonight you rake your nails down his back when he lifts you onto him, straddling him on the couch. Tonight his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, his teeth graze your neck and make you clench around him. His thighs slide your legs further apart in an effort to bury himself still deeper inside you.

Tonight you come with a scream and a curse, burying your hands in his hair and holding on for dear life. Tonight he follows like a lightning strike, his eyes going wide before clamping shut, shaken by the force of his own release.

In the aftermath you climb off of him on unsteady legs, before your breath has slowed or the sweat on your chest has even begun to cool. You stride into the harsh light of the bathroom feeling remade.

Before you were clothed in weakness and dependence and standing there you feel made of will and desire instead. Whatever your future holds you know it will be of your own choosing, damn the fallout.

‘Good,’ you whisper to yourself in the warm light, suddenly unafraid of you who you have become and only glad to no longer be the person you were.

You walk into the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, gritting your teeth, a wild energy spilling from you in waves. While you battle with yourself you wait for him to finally allow himself to ask what brought you back to him in such a state. 

When instead you feel his arms come across your chest, his legs sliding alongside yours as he pulls you back against him, your mouth drops open in shock.

His voice in your ear is a sweet velvet you don’t feel deserve after everything you’ve put him through. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, love. The truth, please.’

‘How can you still want to be near me right now?’ You ask in disbelief, your voice ragged. ‘How can you want anything to do with me, after last time?’

He gently turns your chin so you face him. ‘I’m not a child. I want to be everything you need. Even in this, especially in this. You might not have known what you wanted a week ago, but I think you do now, princess. I want there to be no one else you call but me. The fact that you chose me instead of him tonight… it’s everything.’

A surge of pride grows in your chest as you meet his stare. He’s right, you chose him. But more importantly, in being here you chose yourself.

He presses his lips insistently to yours before speaking low in your ear. ‘I can handle it. I can handle you. If you let me, I’ll be yours forever. You’re the only thing I want.’

You stand, turning and moving between his legs to hold his face in your hands. He looks up at you, running his hands down the naked backs of your thighs. 

All these weeks later you still thank every god you know that he found you, that he wants you. When he presses a featherlight kiss to your stomach, you finally allow yourself to feel worthy of his love.

He’s always been someone who would fight for you, defend you, choose you. Standing there, you realize he’s the only one who’s ever made you want to do the same. For him, for this, you’d fight the entire world.

Your rational mind kicks in and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Am I only interested in this because it’s wrong? Because it’s exciting? A nasty voice inside your mind says. What if this feeling fades over time? What if I ruin my entire life, only to end up right back where I started, but alone and exiled by my family?

But then he laughs, and the fog of doubt lifts. ‘I can feel you thinking hard, princess. I think you already know what you want, even if you’re afraid of it,’ he says softly, his voice full of emotion. ‘Just say it.’

When you look down a lightness comes to his eyes, crinkles forming at the corners, and you fall in love all over again.

Last week you were fine, content to live your life in this odd limbo of longing, obligation, and reckless desire; trying to keep both him and your family’s approval in some half-assed Schrodinger’s life.

Tonight the air in your lungs has settled. Roots have formed, binding you to this earth and to him in a way you could not possibly have fathomed a second before. If he were dull and boring and easy to place, like the countless men before, you could have passed him by. If he were cruel and selfish and shallow like Chase, you could have forgotten him. 

But he’s absolutely everything and you grin, knowing that you’re forever ruined for anyone else.

‘Jinyoung, I love you,’ you say on an exhale, dragging your fingers through his hair to pull his head back so his eyes meet yours. ‘I told my father I quit today. And I told Chase I wasn’t marrying him.’

He stands, bringing his hands to cup your face, triumph and fierce joy surrounding him. 

Wrapping an arm around your back he presses a fervent kiss to your forehead. ‘I love you. I want all of you, forever. If you want to stay, if you want to leave - whatever you want, I’ll be with you.’

You pull back and smile at him, running your fingers down his chest, marveling that he’s real and here, and yours. ‘Maybe… we could go? Start over somewhere?’ you say, uncertain how you’d do it, but excited by the prospect.

‘Sounds perfect. We’ll figure it out,’ he says, pulling you against his chest and pressing his cheek to your hair. With anyone else it would feel impossible, but together it feels like you could do anything.

A gust of wind comes through the trees, sending a wave of colorful leaves swirling in front of you. Months ago, in New York, back when you were a different sort of person, you would have passed them by. In a rush to some meeting or charity gala or brunch with the 'right people.’

But here, in Bend, Oregon, you allow yourself time to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.

Your lunchtime walk through the park is just one of the many things you’re learning that you like, now that you’re a world away from your family and the obligations that just about burned themselves into your very bones.

The job you found at a local preschool makes you so happy you don’t know how you ever put up with a job you hate for so long. And though you’ve tried out a vast majority of the recipes in your books over the last few months, you find you prefer baking to cooking. 

Cinnamon rolls are your favorite, preferably enjoyed in bed over a cup of tea. Legs and arms entangled with Jinyoung while you read in the early morning autumn light.

It took surprisingly few steps to separate your life from your family. In less than a month Jinyoung had found a new job working for a friend of his from college and the two of you had packed up and moved. Once you set things in motion the universe seemed to align on your behalf.

Months ago you’d said you hoped for a love that would remove everything non-essential from your life, and walking to meet him for lunch you realize you’ve found it - a love worth fighting for, a love to risk everything for.

You haven’t heard from your parents since you left, and part of you is glad it was a clean break, even if the thought still makes your heart ache sometimes. 

But the happiness you feel overshadows it. Your sister is as wild as ever and just last week she called to say that her and Derek are expecting a baby next summer.

Walking in to the small café you see Jinyoung waiting for you at your favorite table. Months have gone by and still he looks at you like you’re his entire world. You assumed he’d change, now that he has you. But he’s the same man he’s always been, and especially now that he doesn’t have to hide the fact you’re his.

‘Darren, turn that TV up, I want to hear what he’s saying,’ the older woman at the table next to you says in a ragged voice.

‘All right Myrna, calm down, I’m on it,’ your favorite waiter says with a laugh, finding the remote.

You slide in to the booth next to Jinyoung as the volume increases. With interest you turn to watch. 

The man on TV wears a deep plum sweater that perfectly compliments the shock of blonde hair that falls across his forehead. He’s giving a presentation in what appears to be a large, packed auditorium. Dr. Mark Tuan reads the text underneath the video.

‘…and the test results do in fact confirm the existence of a second soulmate for our four sample couples at this time,’ he says smoothly. ‘This is groundbreaking news in the scientific community…’

The old woman gasps. 'That’s wild isn’t it, Darren?’ she asks the waiter who shakes his head in amusement.

You and Jinyoung turn and smile at each other. You’d both been suspicious for a while. Months later, miles from Chase, your ability to taste sweetness has never faded; instead it’s only gotten stronger.


End file.
